Skin Heat

by Ava Gray

  Zeke didn’t ask about her phone call. He figured if she wanted to talk, she would. Prying never helped.

  She sat down, cup in hand, at the old kitchen table. For long moments, she stared at the scarred surface while seeing something else, and when she looked up at him at last, her face was haunted. “Do you ever feel like you let people down constantly, just by being who you are?”

  He thought about making a sympathetic noise, but he couldn’t. “No.”

  “Must be nice.” A faint sigh escaped her.

  Again, he gave her the raw truth. “Not really. Means nobody cares what I do.”

  That surprised her enough that her coffee cup paused midair. “I know your folks are gone, but what about your aunt?”

  He struggled to find the words. They balled up inside in a knot of feelings. “Loves me, but . . .”

  “What?”

  “Doesn’t expect anything.”

  If he didn’t become a drunk like his dad or kill himself like his mom, that’d be enough for Sid. But he couldn’t say it like that. She loved him, but she thought he was too broken to amount to much, given his family history. He hadn’t known that until he came back—and he could smell it on her. Pity had a distinctive scent.

  “I’d think that would be nice.”

  “Could be, I guess.”

  It was just too hard to explain. With everything she had going on, it was no wonder she hadn’t commented on his strangeness. When she did, it would be all over because he couldn’t put it in terms that would ever make sense. And even if he did manage it, she’d never believe him.

  Thankfully, her own issues weighed too heavily on her to dig into his. “This isn’t. My parents are pushing me to get back together with Ben. They’re saying he’s just what the family needs—and what I need, too.”

  Christ, it hurt to hear that. He’d guessed as much from her call—and the man’s visit the other night—but it raised every hackle for her to speak his name. He had been polished and sure of himself. He drove an expensive car and didn’t have calluses on his hands. Just like that, Zeke wanted to kill him.

  “That true?”

  Neva noticed his tension belatedly. He wasn’t sure of himself . . . or them. And here she was, rambling about Ben. It was a cardinal rule of any new relationship: thou shalt not talk about the ex.

  “It might be the right thing for my family. I know a political connection would make my dad happy, and Ben has been helping out at the mill since Luke went missing. But I’m positive he’s wrong for me.”

  “Sure?” he asked quietly.

  “I had him, Zeke. I threw him back because he wasn’t big enough.”

  His twilight eyes twinkled. “That so?”

  She grinned. “You on the other hand . . .”

  When she stepped close, he reached for her and drew her down on his lap. He was already hard, but he didn’t seem to want that, at least not right now. Since she was raw inside, both from the problems at the clinic and ongoing family drama, she curled into him and put her head on his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

  “Want you to know,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Oh, God. That sounds like a promise. She wanted to beg him not to say it if he didn’t mean it. Down the road, things would get complicated . . . and when they found out, her family—and Ben—would surely make trouble for him. Neva wouldn’t blame him if he did bail down the line, but it’d just hurt more if he’d sworn to stay.

  Before she could answer, Zeke tensed and cocked his head, listening to something she couldn’t hear. Once more that struck a familiar note. She’d seen animals do it more than once. A minute later the sound of a car crunching down the gravel drive reached her.

  “You heard that way before I did.” It wasn’t a question.

  He didn’t deny it, but neither did he explain. Zeke eased her off his lap and went toward the front door. Neva followed him. By the time he opened it, the vehicle—a plain Ford—had stopped, and a man in his late thirties climbed out. He had dark hair, cropped close to his skull, and caramel skin that bespoke some mixed ethnic heritage. His features were fine and even; some might even call him handsome, except for the ice of his pale green eyes and the stern expression. His tailored clothing showed signs of a hard night and his shoes had lost their pristine polish.

  “Zeke Noble and Geneva Harper?” he asked.

  “That’s right.” She guessed he already knew that, or he wouldn’t be here. “And you are?”

  “Emil Hebert. I’m with the Alabama Bureau of Investigation. I have a few questions for you.” He came up on the porch and offered a hand to each of them.

  Zeke didn’t seem thrilled about touching the guy. In fact, now that she was thinking of it, he avoided direct contact with everyone but her. She filed that away for future reference as they went into the front room.

  “I’ll get some coffee.”

  She didn’t offer either of them a chance to demur, just went to the kitchen. In times like this she liked having something to do with her hands. The men didn’t speak, probably engaged in taking each other’s measure. When she returned, she had three cups on a glass platter. It was probably meant for holiday cookies, but it doubled as coffee service with a jug of milk and a bowl of sugar. She knew how Zeke took it, of course, but she served Hebert’s black, and permitted him to doctor it as he preferred. The men had chosen seats opposite each other, agent in the chair, Zeke at the end of the couch. She sat in the middle beside him, and it felt like he relaxed a bit.

  Hebert took a sip. “It’s good. Thank you.”

  “Is this about the break-in or the girl?” she asked.

  “The girl. They don’t call me out for anything the locals can handle.”

  That made sense. “Well, we don’t know anything but what we already told Bobby Pickett and Sheriff Raleigh. But ask away.”

  “Did you notice anything unusual last night?”

  “Besides the car?” Neva shook her head.

  Hebert nodded and focused on Zeke. “I’m told they investigated the abandoned vehicle at your suggestion. Can you tell me about that?”

  “Seemed strange it’d be there at four in the morning.”

  Neva managed not to react. But that was a lie. He’d told her it was because of the smell. Even in her head, however, that still sounded implausible, so that was probably why he didn’t want to repeat it to the investigator. Unease prickled. Maybe she had been too quick to trust him, and God, she’d slept with him . . .

  The agent took a few notes, his expression closed and neutral. “Did you have any reason to believe they would find something?”

  “Thought it might belong to the burglars,” Zeke muttered. “Maybe they had car trouble after the break-in and had to flee on foot.”

  It wasn’t the worst story ever, but from Hebert’s expression, he thought it was just that—a story. “I see.”

  Neva fought the urge to begin some nervous babbling. That would only make things worse. She caught a hint of thinly veiled dislike in the man’s eyes when he shifted his attention. A pang went through her. What’d I ever do to him?

  “You own the clinic, Ms. Harper?”

  “I don’t own the building. I lease it. But yes, I run the place. I’m a veterinarian.” Being able to say that still gave her a quiet rush of pride; she had achieved it on her own, not only without support, but occasionally despite real resistance as well.

  “Is business good?”

  Her brows pulled together in a frown. “I’m not rolling in money, but we’re in the black, yes.”

  Where was he going with this? Did he think she’d staged the break-in for insurance reasons and that girl caught her at it, so she’d killed her and stashed her in the trunk of a car? Surely not. There were far too many holes in that theory.

  Hebert scrawled in his notebook some more. “I understand Mr. Noble works for you?”

  Beside her, Zeke tensed.

 
; “That’s right,” she said.

  “And are you living together?” From his tone, he already knew the answer.

  She almost said, I don’t see what that has to do with anything. But Zeke was quivering; leashed anger rolled off him in waves. Whatever her private doubts, however she’d felt last night—wondering how he could know there was a girl’s body in the trunk when she hadn’t been dead long—she wasn’t going to let Hebert make her feel ashamed, and she wouldn’t answer in a way to make him fear for his place in her life. Deliberately, she covered Zeke’s hand where it rested on his thigh, flipped it over, and laced her fingers through his. He seemed to take comfort in the contact and some of his intensity dialed back. She didn’t know if the agent had noticed Zeke’s near explosion, but he didn’t miss the intimacy of the gesture.

  A low growl escaped Zeke. “Watch it.”

  “I still have an apartment in town, but I can’t bring my work home. We’re caring for three orphaned kittens. Zeke offered to let me stay here for a while, so I wouldn’t have to spend the night at the clinic.”

  “Given the break-in,” Hebert said, “it’s a good thing you weren’t there.”

  She hadn’t even thought of that. Cold rolled through her. “Anyway, I’ve been staying here for about a month, I guess.”

  Hebert nodded. “The rest of these questions are just routine, if you’ll bear with me a little longer.”

  It took another half an hour to content the man with what they’d already told local law enforcement. Never seen the car before. No, we don’t think it has anything to do with the break-in, but who knows for sure?

  At the end, he said, “Thanks for your time and the coffee. I’ll be in touch if there’s anything further.”

  Once he’d gone, a tense and peculiar mood fell between them. Zeke pulled his hand away and shoved to his feet. He didn’t look her in the eyes.

  “Are you all right?”

  “No,” he snarled.

  And he went out the door at a run.

  CHAPTER 14

  Zeke ran.

  As Hebert asked his questions, the air grew sour with Neva’s secret fear. She’d noticed the difference in what he’d told her and what he said to the agent. And he felt sick at the idea she thought he might be capable of . . . that.

  True, they hadn’t been together long, and trust took time. But it raised a deeper issue. It meant she’d noticed his strangeness and that was the spin she’d put on it. She knew he was hiding something, and he would have to confide in her . . . or lose her. Which meant he’d lose her either way.

  And so he ran from that certainty. He pounded over rough ground, ducking dry branches and feeling the wind on his face. There was no doubt in him anymore. Even in peak physical condition, he couldn’t have set this pace. Certainly couldn’t have sustained it. Zeke would bet if he timed himself, he’d break some records. Not that he intended to tell anyone.

  Well . . . anyone but her.

  If he didn’t at least try, though he had no idea how to convince her he wasn’t crazy, then he’d never forgive himself. It’d be the same as quitting on the best thing that had ever happened to him. But they couldn’t go on as they were. Her doubt would poison everything and then she’d make excuses not to see him.

  Because he didn’t know what else to do and he needed to burn the anger out of his blood, he pushed on, long past sunset. He’d run miles by the time he stopped, breathing in ragged gulps. The stars rained light down through the naked tangle of branches overhead. Zeke turned his face upward and squeezed his eyes shut.

  What am I going to do?

  As if in answer, a howl sounded in the distance. Loneliness. He got a feeling from the sound. Not like the kittens. This was fierce and feral and hunted. The creature’s kin had been shot, probably for killing pets or chickens, and it was alone. No answering call came, and loss weighted the silence.

  A normal person, realizing he was alone in the woods with a hungry beast, would run the other way. Instead Zeke focused on the otherness of it and jogged toward it. When he neared the creature, it didn’t flee. It stilled so that even its mind quieted, trying to determine if he was threat or prey.

  Neither.

  He knelt in the dry leaves and dropped his hands between his knees. For the first time, he tried to use the odd link. Zeke sent an invitation, for one could not compel such creatures. Curiosity touched in response, layered with uncertainty.

  And then a tawny coyote stepped out of the undergrowth. He had lighter fur beneath his chin and on his belly. Golden eyes gleamed in the dark. The animal paused some distance away, studying him. But he did not seem fearful or timid. Confused, maybe.

  I get it, Zeke thought. What you smell is not what you see. Under the skin, you know I’m more like you.

  Hesitantly the animal trotted closer, sniffing. When it got within touching distance, he held out a hand. Images washed through him. He saw the death of its loved ones and mourned as blood stained their fur. More confusion. Hunger. They were feelings more than thoughts, impressions wrapped around pictures.

  Without considering what he did, he sent the invitation again, along with feelings of safety and belonging. The coyote let out a little yelp and fell in behind him. This time, when he ran, he wasn’t alone, and the joy in sharing the night replaced everything else.

  It was very late by the time he remembered he wasn’t a coyote and that he had a woman waiting for him at home. He also didn’t know how to get rid of the animal now that he had him. He knew coyotes weren’t suitable pets. They ate people’s pets.

  But he couldn’t bring himself to send the impulse that would drive it away, so he let it trot at his heels. There were no animals on the farm, he reasoned. Except the kittens, and he wouldn’t let the thing come into the house. But how to explain it—

  It hit him then. This was a good thing, a way to show her, without starting at the forget it, I’m not listening, you’re crazy mile marker. Normal guys didn’t go out for a run and come home with a coyote.

  He stopped as they reached the yard. The lights were on, at least, and her car was still in the drive. That reassured him until he realized she couldn’t leave. Not when it meant abandoning the kittens, her home was a mess, and the clinic was still wrecked. Basically she had to stay, which sapped his pleasure in finding her there.

  The coyote whined, sensing his mood, and he sent a wave of reassurance, natural as breathing. A question flowed back to him—not words so much as a sense of what’re we doing here?

  “Taking a leap,” he said aloud. And then he called, “Neva!”

  The cry echoed louder than he expected and the animal beside him cringed. Standing here beside him went against all its instincts. It had seen its family killed for venturing too close to someone else’s farm. Zeke aimed another wave of warmth at it. Don’t run off just yet. I need you. The coyote stood before the porch for long minutes, tense as a yard dog straining at its chain.

  Finally she peeked out the front door. The hall light showed she was wearing one of his shirts and a pair of fuzzy pink slippers. She couldn’t be too mad at him if she’d gone rummaging through his clothes. He didn’t know why women did that, only how much he liked it.

  “Are you drunk?”

  “No.”

  “Did you bring home a dog?” She stepped out onto the porch. Then she took a closer look and seemed to realize what was standing in their yard. “Zeke, what did you do?”

  He wouldn’t get a better lead. “Not what did I do. What can I do?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He turned to the coyote, knelt down, and stared into its eyes, making it understand the importance of this. Then he sent the idea of pack, of safety and belonging, wrapped up in this female. The creature seemed none too convinced at first, cocking its head doubtfully. When he set his hand on its head, it yielded with a whine.

  The animal slunk toward Neva, reluctantly overcoming its own nature because he begged it to. It lay down at her feet, trembling all the way.
She bent, probably to check it for injuries, but she’d find it whole. Just terrified. Waves of it came off the creature and he felt bad for subjecting it to this.

  “It acts like you’re influencing its behavior,” she said unsteadily.

  “Exactly. Gonna let it go.”

  Go on now. Thanks, little brother. The coyote leapt to its feet and sprinted for the woods. The lure of freedom was far stronger than the whispers of pack he’d offered before, especially when coupled with a known threat. Neva wasn’t like him. Her kind hunted theirs.

  Her bewilderment was obvious. He took her arm and drew her back into the house. She was cold. Once he’d shut the door, he headed for the kitchen to make some hot chocolate. He’d noticed that she ordered it pretty often at Armando’s. The chore also gave her time to process. He put the pan on the stove and added cocoa and sugar. By the time he’d finished making the drink, she looked less shocked. He poured the hot chocolate into two mugs and set hers on the table. She seemed thoughtful more than anything.

  “Was that a longtime pet of yours?”

  “No.”

  A shuddering sigh escaped her. “Then you must have a story to tell.”

  “Yep.” He paused, trying to think how to put it. It was impossible to look her in the face and see her loss of faith, so he busied himself at the sink. “Got . . . taken. Dunno by who or why. Spent six months locked up while they . . . did things to me.”

  Her breath caught. “What things?”

  “Bad.” He didn’t want to talk about it. But he had to. “Got out, along with some other folks. Six of us. But we were all . . . different when we left.”

  There was no way she’d believe this, despite the coyote. How could she? He curled his hands into fists and leaned against the sink.